Imaginary Children

When I first started this blog, I had intended to tell colorful stories of my childhood and maybe enlighten a few about dyscalculia. Over the course of a couple years it has evolved into something a little more. When I write about infertility, it's usually through my tears and as I sit here now- my eyes are thick with salt water.

I spend a lot of time imagining what our child would be like. I imagine a tall girl- with her fathers wavy blonde hair and my blue eyes. I imagine all the things I was going to teach her like pottery and archery, baking and makeup. She's had a hundred names in eight years. I imagine a son with a freckled nose and an oversized wristwatch riding a bike with his dad. I imagine teaching him to be a good man. A simple man.

Each year that passes by yeild not children, but another dozen failed pregnancy tests. I grow more distant from the things I once loved and feel myself surrendering to a deep and lingering sadness that I can not shake. I wear masks every day to work but I am afraid people are beginning to notice there's not much life happening behind these eyes.

I feel myself pushing my Viking away in anger and sadness. I am angry that he loves me. I am angry that he loves me AND I can't give him what he wants; what he deserves. I break my body, force chemicals into it, sleep upside down, eat strange herbs, suffer horrible pain and sickness. I must endure debilitating anxiety attacks brought on by the hormones. I am subjected to humiliation each time I see a new doctor. And I do all of this because I love this man so much and want to give him a child.

It does not matter to me if he tells me we don't need to have a child. I know in my heart he wants one and I will be the reason he doesn't have an heir to his throne.  I can not live with that.

I never have felt permanent in this relationship. It  has always felt as though this relationship was hinged on whether or not I produced a baby. After so many years of failure the guilt, anger and complete and utter sorrow has broken me inside. I feel like the shell of a person, just animated skin  and bones masquerading around as a happy person.

I am slipping.

This causes me to stay away from people. I don't go to see his family even though they are right next door. Why? Guilt. I am a fraud. I am holding their son back from having a child. I am robbing them of having a grandchild. I see it when they look at me.

I lash out at the Viking- wishing he'd just end us. I imagine him finding someone who can and will give him a child. I imagine being both happy for him and terribly terribly sad.

I imagine running away to another state, Vanishing. Never looking back so I don't have to hurt.

There is no winning here. I lose no matter what. It's a terrible place to be.

People in my life do not understand what I am going through and I can not explain in anyway that help anyone feel what I am feeling. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Infertility truly is a lonely place.

Spinning Straw Into Gold

 ***This blog is not a guide to fertility nor is it meant to be uplifting. It is the ramblings of a half mad woman who has been fighting infertility for 10 years.***

So, as mentioned before in a few blogs, my Viking and I struggle with infertility. Actually, I struggle with infertility,  he endures. See, it is my problem.

I am 35 now. I was 25 when I learned there was an issue with my fertility. It seems I do not make enough progesterone, which besides annovulation  (That lack of ovulation) and lack of a menstrual cycle, progesterone deficiency causes a slew of other health problems.

We have used up all of our savings on procedures and treatments, spent all of our hope, depleted my self esteem, and barrowed much from my sanity seemingly without the ability to pay it back.

My Viking seems unfazed. I, on the other hand, feel like crap. I feel like it would be easier for him to ask me to draw water from an empty well, catch a rainbow or spin straw into gold. 

Recently we have tried another round of Clomid before going to see a fertility clinic in Portland. We started with 50mg of Clomid which must be taken at veryspecific times during your cycle.  This can be tough for someone who has PCOS and Estrogen Dominance  because your cycle is not regular at all and you can ovulate late. None the less, I read everything I could get my hands on about charting and timing sex and Basal Temperatures. I had charts and graphs everywhere. I looked like I was studying global warming. 

The first round really felt like it worked.  I felt the pinch of ovulation in my ovary, had sore boobs and my nipples felt like they were sunburned. The ovulation predictor even said that I had an LH surge which is the hormone that tells your ovaries to release an egg. 

For two weeks I was sick, nauseous, bloated and had a heavy feeling in my uterus. I was soooo sure we were pregnant, we started picking out names:

Malcolm if its a boy after Malcolm Reynolds, a character from the show FireFly.

Amber if it's a girl because everyone is naming their baby Sophia, which is what I always wanted to name my daughter. The Viking doesn't like the other names I picked out such as Aurora, Athena or Anastasia. I wanted her name to have a warm glow to it.

The body can be as cruel as the gods. I waited to test until two days past my expected menstrual cycle, but the test came back negative.  I tested again, straining my eyes for the faintest sign of a double line with no success. I bought a digital test and then debated the true meaning of the word "NOT."

The second month I didn't need progesterone. My period started on it's own after picking up Metformin again which is pretty normal.  I took another 50mg of Clomid on the 5th day of my cycle everyday for 5 days just like instructed. This time I felt nothing. No sore boobs, no sickness- I felt nothing but a deep lingering depression.  Depression is nothing new to me, especially when dealing with infertility, but ending my life? That's not me at all. I looooooove life. I am happy...what was happening to me? This depression made friends with anxiety which clung to me like sweat and was as suffocating as smoke.

Thoughts of ending my life would hit me unexpectedly and as I increased the Clomid dose from 50mg to 100mg the feelings became so intense I was afraid to be left alone. I would sometimes crawl into my Vikings lap shaking with fear. I wish that was an exaggeration, but it's not. I was afraid that I might be over taken by these feelings and really do harm to myself.

My Dr. ordered a HYSTEROSALPINGOGRAM  to make sure there was no blockage etc. which went well and I was told this could increase my chances of getting pregnant for three months just by having the procedure done. I was mid cycle when the procedure was actually done. Since the hospital demanded cash upfront- it took the last of the money I had saved.

After the report said that all systems were clear, My doctor then upped my dose of Clomid to 100mg. Things were really busy for me at work, but I managed to take a little time off on the days my epic charting said that I should. My boobs hurt, my back hurt, I was sick with vomiting and diarrhea  and then there was the pain. My right ovary, which had never hurt before, suddenly made itself known. I couldn't sit, squat, stoop, bend or lay on my right side at all. I knew this had to be a good sign as it was far too early for it to be an entopic pregnancy. I saw my doctor on day 21 so I could have the progesterone withdrawal test to see if I had ovulated and explained to her I was in a ton of pain. She of course had to poke my tender spots and decided I needed an ultrasound. The ultrasound confirmed that I was indeed telling the truth, that ovary was as big as an egg McMuffin and had 13 black holes where it looked like eggs may have ruptured from.

Could it be that I had 13 tiny Vikings making their way to the promised land?

No. None of them implanted and furthermore....the Progesterone test said I had not ovulated at all.

So the next step is 150mg of Clomid and I am scared. Everyday I ask myself when will it be ok to stop? When can I just be happy with the life I have without a baby? I mean I want this, but it is my Viking who wants an heir to his kingdom.  I have always felt like if I can't produce an heir I'll suffer the fate of Ann Boleyn. Not that my Viking is a wife killing tyrant or anything, but he could cast me away. It's a silly thought, but it's how I feel. Like I am just a temporary cast member unless the audience decides they like me and the writers re-write history, Ann has a son and gets to keep her head.  I bet she felt like she was trying to spin straw into gold as well. I bet she sometimes felt that the gods were cruel.

So today I start another 7 days of progesterone to jump start my cycle, which happens nearly right away upon stopping the progesterone, followed by 5 days of 150mg of Clomid. I am scared. Not just that it wont work, but what the next 30 days are going to be like on my psyche. It has taken a great amount of effort these past few months to appear calm and serene outside of the house, as though my waters were as smooth as glass, but only yesterday the glass cracked and a flood of emotion poured out while sitting at my desk. I nearly drowned in it.

I just want to be done with all of this. It's all so embarrassing. All things private are brought to light. Sex doesn't feel like sex anymore. It's lost the magic. Babies make me sad, it's too hard to pray, I am driving my loved ones crazy.

UPDATE*** Day 3 of progesterone and I suffered a blinding migraine for half of the day. I have also gained 11 pounds since last month. :( My cycle should start this Friday 5/3/13 which means that I'll start the 150mg of Clomid on the 8th.  If you're reading this, wish me luck. Send me some baby dust. If you're going through the same thing...hang in there.

The Battle Hymn of the Infertile.

  Warning! This blog can't be read without this song "Safe and Sound," by Electric President running in the background.

                                            http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnUdlFdTWcA

I would consider myself a reasonably strong person.  With the exception of my bosses, boss there is not much out there that intimidates me, makes me cry or breaks me down. I take a lot of pride in being strong, resourceful and able to handle tremendous amounts of stress that would cripple most. I'm battle hardened but not weary. 

Except, that's not entirely true. That's what I tell myself every day. Everyday-when I go to work and lead my team of amazing battle ponies. It is what I say to myself everyday when I lead my household of reluctant feral Man-children towards the road to something that resembles civility. I am a warrior in high heels. A woman. Fearless- Unstoppable- Unbreakable- I am a survivor of a multitude of devastating huricanes and tsunamis that have crashed upon the sandy shores of my being...exposing the rocks...leaving me somewhat jagged, but better for it. Sturdy. Predictable. Honest. Immovable in the face of a storm.

I am in control over every part of my life.

Except one. This one tiny thing. The smallest, easiest thing in the world literally brings me to my knees...  Like a butterfly crushing a diamond into sand.

So small it is measured on a microscopic level; the egg meeting the foreign invader and creating a life almost like magic. Except I am...

Broken.

Hopeless.

The ability to conceive and bare children, is something I do not posses. The very physical thing that sets women apart from men, the thing so many women take for granted, the one thing that is so easy that even a monkey can do it- is the one thing I simply can not do and I am mad as fucking hell about it.

Over the years I have had wide range of emotions; unexpected emotional side effects if you will. Fear, Anger, Depression, Anxiety... the constant feeling of failure and defeat weighing me down like I am carrying wet stones in my pockets. All feelings I never expected to experience over something so small. So small, yet so incredibly large.  A monster I can not slay. I want to take the stones from my pocket and hurl them at this...this monster...this thing... like David slew Goliath, but it's too big, a Leviathan, and I feel so very small in it's face.

I have been to doctors and doctors of doctors. I have been on a cocktail of pills that could almost count as a meal. An edible rainbow in the palm of my hand that promised a bouncing bundle of pure fucking joy at the end.

I have become the queen of the pregnancy test; forming very strict rituals about when and how I take the test. How much urine to collect, how much water to drink before I test, what type of test to take. I strain my eyes looking for that second line, holding the test up to the bathroom light and rolling it between my thumb and forefinger so the plastic test window could catch the light at just the right angle.  That stupid, glorious faded pink line. The line- the one that has the ability to change my life by simply making itself visible. Never shows itself. And I, female warrior extraordinaire of the new millennium, leave the bathroom crushed.

Like sand.

I just want the water to carry me out to sea. Suck me under - take me out with the tide.

I have been pregnant in the past and have had miscarriages. The pain that comes with the loss of an unborn child can not be measured or compared to anything else. It is unique. It is not the same pain a mother feels after losing her child from a long illness or to a war or in a car accident. Each of those carry their own unique pain and set of emotions that simply can not be described or compared to one another. But it is a pain none the less. A deep personal pain that you can not share with anyone else.  The pain I felt, the sadness was so deep that it did indeed carry me out to sea and washed me away with the tide. I lost myself. I stopped going to work. Gained weight, stopped doing anything that I had previously enjoyed like singing karaoke and art. Soon, going out into public became very difficult. Just seeing a baby sent me into waves of guilt and sorrow.  I would burst into tears or begin shaking. I must have looked insane. I was afraid of myself. I couldn't trust myself to not lose it in fornt of people. I let myself down. I let everyone around me down.

So it was just me. Just me the lioness.  Until then, I had never met an enemy I couldn't conquer. Never faced a battle I couldn't win. Never met an obstacle I couldn't overcome. And now I was facing the biggest monster in my life totally alone. I had lost my roar. Lot my ores...lost my mind.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome right?

Only I couldn't.

I was so alone. This was something I could not make the Viking understand.
Or his Parents...
Or mine....
or anyone. I was completly alone. Just me and my failure.


                                                        And a silent watching God.

I wanted so badly to have a baby. To nurse near to my heart. Small dimpled fingers reaching for my face with bright, twinkling, powder blue eyes;  milk bubbling from the corner of a small smile.

After a while the sadness turned into extreme anger. Still hopeless, at least in the baby end of the spectrum. The hard part of me, the gladiator threw out a life line and towed me to the shore. I went back to work. I soldiered on. Forgot about babies as much as I could.

Until today. I had been putting off my yearly doctors visits because it seemed that the act of going there was like visiting enemy territory and giving away my position. Every doctors visit brought more pain, more realization that this one thing was always going to kick my ass. Like superman visiting a Kyrptonite rock museum. So I just didn't go. It's been 5 years.

I sat on the torture table with my baby powdered feet resting on the stirrups, paper gown doing a
shit-tasic job of covering all my assets, my butt literally trying to eat the paper sheets they put down for whatever reason. I remember thinking that I know women who should just resort to buying paper sheets and then the doctor came in while I was giggling like mad to myself.

I was nervous.
Scared.
I already had tears in my eyes and she hadn't even said hi yet.

I was an emotional time bomb ready to explode. I tried to hold it all in, but the water was too strong. the floodgates ruptured from the weight of the rolling tide and I was terrified that I'd drown in it all. It had been so long since I told myself I would not feel this pain. That I would not go back to the doctor. I had been holding this in for so, so long.

She just hugged me.
She hugged me like she knew everything I was going to say but didn't. Something I simply hadn't allowed anyone else to hear or see for fear I'd lose myself again to that dark, dark water.

She hugged me and then she gave me something I had lost when I floated out to sea. Long lost and forgotten.

HOPE.

Throughout the course of our visit she slowly and steadily built a lighthouse on my rocky beach. A guiding light. A beacon. A piercing light so that when I get pulled back out to sea from time to time I can find my way back. And I will...find my way back.

Yes there will be more pills. But she had an energy about the way she spoke, as of she knew that this current course of action was a sure win. She gave me renewed hope and handed me my prescriptions- like a nautical chart and a treasure map-

So here I am again. Captain of my own ship. 

I can not let the Leviathan drag me under; sink my battleship.